Prologue
New Year's Eve
Zoey
Zoey stared in the mirror of the bathroom, fixing her hair. Her classic twist had started to come loose, and she held two bobby pins in her mouth as she finagled a third back into place.
Someone knocked on the door. Her eyes flicked to the door in the reflection of the mirror.
"Jus' a 'inute," Zoey called out, unable to open her mouth with the bobby pins in her teeth.
The knocking continued. Couldn't they tell the door was locked, signaling someone was inside? Wasn't that common sense?
She spit out the pins in frustration. "Fucking hold the fuck on," she yelled.
The knocking stopped immediately.
She sighed as she picked up the pins again to finish twisting them into place.
Sure, she had made the guest list of Madonna's New Year's Eve bash, one of the most exclusive parties in LA, but she supposed they didn't include an intelligence screening test at the door for any other guests.
She had forced herself to come to the party stag, mostly because both Billie and Domino were loved up, but even Mego had plans with a special someone. Zoey had always felt a bit uncomfortable going solo to social events, but with the increase in invites, she knew she couldn't convince her inner circle to go to every single one of them. Especially now that her wild child best friend, Domino, had settled down and was — to quote — wearing fuzzy slippers and drinking hot toddies at home.
Even Micah, their manager, had plans with her husband.
Ugh, couples.
Zoey cringed, looking in the mirror again.
When had all of her friends turned boring?
The worst part? She didn't even despise any of their partners.
Except Mego's, but only because Meg wouldn't tell her who she was seeing.
And now Zoey was alone at Madonna's New Year's Eve party.
Someone banged on the door again.
She turned, her patience completely gone. She opened the door, standing in the doorway, towering over a very drunk girl who couldn't have been over 18. She was wearing a designer dress that fit strangely around her chest — had she seriously stuffed them with toilet paper? Was this girl even old enough to drive?
"Is the building on fire?" Zoey barked.
The girl rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just move, lady," she said, pushing in past Zoey.
Zoey scoffed, moving into the hallway as the door slammed in her face.
She walked back down the hall of the giant rental space. It was a ballroom decorated in blacks and reds and tulle, like some macabre ballet.
The music was loud with a bass that vibrated her ribs and drowned out all the thoughts in her head. She took a glass of champagne from a tray that a waiter was holding and resisted the urge to take her phone out of her purse.
No, she would be present. She would not just retreat to staring mindlessly at social media just because she was in a sour mood.
She knew plenty of people at the party from other parties she’d been to, or from photo shoots or magazine interviews or other designer's shows. She knew almost everyone at the party, excluding the annoying brat who had banged on the door while she was in the bathroom.
She wouldn't dwell and be an asshole simply because she was in a bad mood.
She took a deep breath, tipping the glass and pouring the sweet liquid into her mouth.
Then she placed her empty glass on a tray and grabbed one more full glass, just for good measure.
She set her shoulders, walking into the crowd.
She found a pair of photographers, Julian and Michael, that she had worked with on a shoot for French Vogue, and had spent a good part of the last hour talking about their travels through Russia.
"Your band should tour Russia next year when the new album comes out!" Julian exclaimed. "It's to die for."
"My band is full of outspoken lesbians. I don't think that's going to work out," she shouted over the music, trying not to roll her eyes.
They stared at her with horrified, embarrassed expressions.
"It's okay. Maybe by the time the new album comes out, the world will be a different place," she added, trying to smooth things over.
Michael shook his head. "You mean, never?"
Julian laughed. "Surely you're not still doing the band thing, darling. I thought you were an influencer now," he said. "Didn't—“
Zoey excused herself to grab another drink.
Cool party, Madonna.
She stared into her glass, the thought replaying through her mind.
She was at Madonna's New Year's Eve party. She had to get a grip. Five years ago, she'd have killed to be where she was.
And yet...
When Zoey had joined The Shrikes, she knew that it would change her life. She just didn't know how.
Being the keyboard player for an indie rock band had opened doors that she would have never imagined — she was celebrated as a powerful woman of color, she was on magazine covers, she walked in the Balmain show in Milan... she had begun to live a life that she had never thought possible.
The Shrikes hadn't put out an album in years... mainly because their lead songwriter and bassist, Domino, had a terrible case of writer's block. But a lot of that had changed recently — especially in the past month.
Domino had hit a wall and finally opened up the songwriting process to include the other members of the group. Billie, the lead singer, had always been Domino's co-writer, but she had been busy with other projects for the past few months. Meg, the drummer, and Zoey, had finally begun adding their input to the creative process beyond their own instruments.
It had only been a week or two, but the songs were coming freely and Zoey felt more creatively alive than ever. She loved writing, especially lyrically.
The Shrikes would begin to record their album soon, and after that whirlwind, they'd begin promotions, then go on tour — possibly by late summer. If they finished recording the album by February, Micah, their agent, had even suggested that the album could drop as soon as July, depending on how quickly the tracks could be mastered.
Zoey was on top of the world, had over a million Instagram followers, she knew plenty of the right people, and yet...
She shouldn't take such an exciting time for granted, and yet...
She was lonely as hell.
She stood beside a champagne fountain, tucked in a darkened corner, staring up at the glistening light through the liquid.
"Kind of excessive," someone said from beside her.
She glanced sideways to see that it was Pia Marino, a talk show host and comedian that she had met briefly through other friends. Sabrina, a professional organizer friend, was about to do a guest segment on Pia's show the following week, and Vero De Luca, Billie's girlfriend, had come out on the show just a few months before.
"I mean, it's not even drinkable," Pia said, crossing her arms as she watched the bubbles.
"I'm not above dunking my head under it," Zoey said with a wink.
"Need a boost?" Pia said, motioning as though she could hold Zoey's foot in her hands to give her leverage.
Zoey grinned. "I'm a huge fan, by the way. I don't know if you remember me, but—"
Pia shook her head. "Zoey McCarren. You're the keyboardist for my favorite band," she said.
Zoey raised her eyebrows. "Your favorite band? High praise," she said.